


Quickening

by veritascara



Series: Ad Astra [7]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rebels
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, F/M, Flashbacks, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Healing, Hopeful Ending, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-15
Updated: 2018-12-15
Packaged: 2019-09-19 15:19:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,400
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17004147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/veritascara/pseuds/veritascara
Summary: Sabine visits Hera on Yavin IV, bringing with her a poignant gift.





	Quickening

**Author's Note:**

> Part 7 is finally here! I hope you all enjoy it and find it worth the wait. This one is definitely an emotional roller coaster, so mind the tags.
> 
> This story was partially inspired by an image of Hera in the incredible Leia comic fic ["There Is Another"](https://archiveofourown.org/works/10597686/chapters/23428284) by [stitchy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stitchy/pseuds/stitchy).
> 
> My eternal gratitude to my betas [Anoray](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anoray/pseuds/Anoray) and [uhura_ismylastname](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uhura_ismylastname/pseuds/uhura_ismylastname) for their support and encouragement. And thank you to everyone else who has left wonderful comments and sent encouraging messages inquiring after this story. That means so much. You guys keep me going!

“Ow!”

Hera shook the scalding water off her fingers, quickly wiping them on a towel, before grabbing at her comm to silence its insistent beeping. “Syndulla here.”

“Just wanted to let you know that Phantom II is on approach, General.”

“Thanks, Commander. Copy that,” she replied. “Already?” she added to herself, as soon as she’d released the button.

Quickly, she finished pouring the water for the tea she’d been preparing and threw the infuser into it, then grabbed a second mug and filled it with fresh caf, grimacing as she tossed in far more sugar than any person should reasonably consume in a single cup, plus a good helping of cream.

 _That will do,_ she thought, leaving both cups on the dejarik table on her way out.

The dull roar of engines greeted Hera’s ears as she hurried through the belly of the Ghost, climbing down the ladder to the cargo hold as rapidly as reasonable caution would allow. The sound of the shuttle landing grew nearer by the second, and she stepped into the morning sunshine just in time to watch its rounded form gently touch down on the duracrete a few meters away. A soft smile stole across her face as she blinked back the morning light, everything around her tinged just a little bit orange from the reflected glow of Yavin hanging large in the sky above.

 _“Ah-wup-wah-wah-ee?_ ” Chopper rolled up beside her. She patted his dome a couple times with her hand.

“Yeah, that’s Sabine.”

“ _Wah-ee-wap-ay?_ ”

“No. She’ll only be here a couple days, Chopp.”

The droid warbled his disappointment. Hera didn’t necessarily disagree, but she wasn’t one to complain. The galaxy was still at war, no matter what personal complications were thrown her direction. But she sighed involuntarily anyways, and her smile fell away.

She’d spent four weeks back on base, four weeks that simultaneously felt like both the longest and shortest of her life. Every day a whirlwind of activity—meetings to attend, trainings to organize, simulations to run. Every night long and quiet.

Too quiet.

Perhaps even lonely.

Years of traveling the stars as a family had ill-prepared her for months living nearly alone. Being surrounded by people she vaguely knew didn’t count . . .

The hatch to the shuttle wheezed open, and Hera forced her mind back on the present, wiping her emotions from her face and resting a hand on her hip. The seconds ticked on, the interval seeming to last far longer than it should for anyone to cross the minuscule ship’s small length. But finally, Sabine emerged, her eyes wide and a smile on her face.

Hera immediately decided that those four weeks had definitely been the longest of her life.

A second’s glance was all it took to realize that Sabine was a blur of new, unexpected colors, but a second was all Hera had to examine her before Sabine crossed the space between them and threw her arms around Hera’s shoulders.

Hera froze at the unexpected affection, mildly startled.

 _Just go with it_ , a familiar voice, deep and warm, whispered in her mind.

So she did.

She raised her own arms to wrap them around the young woman and pulled her closer, giving as much as receiving. Force knows Sabine probably needed a hug as badly as she did.

“You’re here early,” Hera finally said.

“I learned from the best,” Sabine replied, almost a whisper in her ear.

Hera couldn’t help but smile again at that, and she pulled back a little to finally get a good look at the girl.

Sabine’s armor sported new colors and designs in several places, including a purrgil on one shoulder. Her hair was completely unfamiliar—the bob she had previously worn chopped into something shorter that stuck up in what appeared to be almost random places (although knowing Sabine, it was anything but). And the strands that had been a sedate dark brown and purple were now a riotous mass of orange and green.

Orange and green like the dense forests around her and the brilliantly illuminated planet above. Like the face of Ryloth on a clear day. Like Kanan. Like Ezra.

 _Oh, Sabine_.

Hera fought to keep a sudden surge of emotion from rising to the surface, somehow succeeding. If Sabine caught the drift of her thoughts, she didn’t say, but perhaps it was because her own attention appeared just as rapt with surveying Hera as Hera had been of her—appraising the civilian clothes she’d recently taken to wearing (she’d had little other choice), the long brown coat covering them, the red General’s pips pinned on her breast, and of course the growing–

“Whoa, you can actually see it now!”

Hera coughed out a laugh and followed Sabine’s gaze downward, to the small, but visible protrusion of her belly under the loose, gray tunic. “Rumor has it there’s a baby in there.”

“I’ll say.” Sabine’s gaze softened, warmth and pride filling her eyes. “It’s so good to see you again.” She paused for another moment. “You look better.”

“I feel better.” Hera hardly knew where to start on that subject.

 _“Wah-wah-wup-we?”_ An insistent binary voice interrupted.

“Yes, it’s good to see you too, Chopper.” Sabine laughed and rolled her eyes, and bent down to give the droid’s dome a fond pat while Hera stood by, shaking her head. “Have you been taking good care of her?” she whispered. “You know how Hera pushes herself too hard.”

“I’m right here.” Hera groaned.

Chopper ignored her and warbled an affirmative.

“Of course you have.” Sabine shot Hera a sly smile.

“ _Wup-wup-woo._ ”

“Don’t be rude, Chopp.” Hera crossed her arms and gave a sigh of feigned exasperation, grimacing at Sabine. “He never changes.”

“Never,” Sabine agreed, rising back to her feet, “but I’m glad. I wouldn’t have him any other way.” She rested a hand again on Hera’s shoulder. “It’s good to be home.”

“Come on, let’s get you settled in.”

Sabine’s presence felt warm and comforting at Hera’s back as they made the short trek though the Ghost, crossing rooms and climbing ladders. All the spaces that made the ship a home instantly more comfortable with someone to share it with; Sabine’s presence was a welcome relief after five days of quiet, not counting Chopper’s usual nonsense.

Hera had missed her so much. She shouldn’t. She did anyways.

And she felt horribly guilty for it—for missing her, for feeling like she needed her, for wishing she could ask her to stay.

(She would never ask her to stay. She couldn’t bring herself to really do that.)

In the common room, Sabine dropped her pack beside the bench, and gratefully took the mug Hera pressed into her hands.

“Mmm, it’s perfect.” Sabine hummed with contentment as she sipped the sweetened caf.

Hera smiled and slid into the booth to sit next to her, cradling her own cup of chav tea in her palms. Inhaling deeply, she let the warmth and tantalizing aroma of spices relax her. It wasn’t quite caf, but it was good enough. It would do for a few more months, at least.

A couple minutes passed as the pair drank in silence, a contented, peaceful quiet settling over the room. It felt so normal, so ordinary for once—like any morning routine they’d ever shared on the ship over the years. Hera’s eyes dropped shut. If she were to set aside the past few months . . .

Sabine would be beside her, just about ready to get up and work on her cache of explosives. There was Zeb off in the galley reading one of his magazines, away from the probing eyes of the teenagers. Chopper could be found in the cockpit, calibrating the hyperdrive again—probably arguing with it, as likely as not. And there were Kanan and Ezra, on the grassy plains outside, their lightsabers drawn as they spun together through form after form.

So normal once, now so foreign. Her heart clenched at the thought.

Hera opened her eyes to find Sabine watching her with concern. Immediately, she wiped the pained expression from her face, and spoke before Sabine could comment. “I’ve missed you around here.” Her eyes dropped to her half-empty cup. “I’ve been trying to get used to the quiet.”

“It is quieter than I expected,” Sabine said after a long moment, her gaze never leaving Hera. “Where’s Zeb?”

“He’s off on Byss for the week. Kallus convinced him to go along as backup for one of his intelligence missions.”

“It’s hard to picture Zeb spying, rather than smashing bucketheads. He’s not exactly the incognito type,” Sabine scoffed.

Hera laughed a little. She couldn’t say she blamed her disbelief. A Lasat was not the most likely choice for any sort of under-the-radar mission, and Zeb wasn’t exactly known for his subtlety. But things were what they were. “I didn’t have anything for him to do around here. It’s where he wanted to be.”

“You mean, with Kallus is where he wanted to be,” A smirk grew on Sabine’s face.

Hera hummed noncommittally. “Perhaps. I figure they’ll say something when they’re ready.” She’d long since given up trying to assess the hearts of others. She’d done such a poor job of understanding her own for so long; there really was no point.

“We’ll see about that,” Sabine muttered. “Well, I’m back now for two days to keep you company, at least.”

“And I’m grateful. I have the rest of this morning free. The daily Command briefing ended early. I’d hardly know what to do with myself if you weren’t here.” Hera took a long sip of her tea.

“You? Not know what to do? I doubt that.” Sabine’s voice dripped with skepticism. “‘Not knowing what to do’ probably means ‘twenty reports to write and several missions to plan,’ by your standards.”

Sabine knew her well. Far too well. Hera shook her head, amused.  

“Well, I do need to do a little planning, but no meetings until thirteen-hundred hours. You can get some sleep for a bit then, if you want—take an edge off the space lag. Then I’ve got some x-wing simulators to run until sixteen-hundred. We’ve had several new cargo pilots who are unfamiliar with combat flight join recently, wanting to train. . . ” Hera rambled on for a little while about the inner workings of her new training program, the tracks and classes she was developing for pilots with varying levels of experience, and even a little about some of the people she was working with—some kids younger than Sabine, others veterans as old as her father. It had been a strange experience so far, but one she hoped would prove fruitful in the long run.

Sabine listened attentively as Hera spoke on and on, perhaps too attentively. There was an undercurrent of tension visible in the way she sat—in her too-straight posture, in the repeated bouncing motion of her knees. She said little, aside from a smart remark or compliment on Hera’s progress now and then.

“–it’s all still pretty chaotic as I figure out how to organize the trainings most effectively, but we’ll get there,” Hera concluded, worried that she was boring the younger woman. Her last few weeks hadn’t been what she would define as exciting, in any case.

Sabine tucked a knee under her and shifted to fully face Hera, her expression cautious, “How are _you_ doing? Really?”

The query caught Hera off guard. Her shoulders dropped and any trace of a smile faded.

 _How was_ she _doing?_

She looked away, staring blankly across the room at the starbird Sabine had painted on the wall years ago.

 _How_ was _she doing?_

Finding the answer to that question was like sorting through jumbled box of a hundred screws and bolts, each one a different type, length, metal, and thickness—all the emotions and physical complaints smashed together into the confusing package her life had become.

“Better . . .” Hera said slowly. “I meant it when I said I feel better. I’m still tired but have a little more energy again. And the medicine is working for the nausea. It’s been a life saver.” She let out a mirthless laugh and turned to meet Sabine’s eyes. “I’d been feeling so good that I tried going without it once last week. Not making that mistake again any time soon.”

Sabine rolled her eyes and shook her head a little, but said nothing.

 _How was she_ really _doing?_

Hera hardly had the words to say, and when the few she could string together came out, they emerged haltingly, broken. “I– I still miss him . . . day and night. I don’t think that will ever go away, but sometimes, sometimes the ache isn’t as strong—just for a while. And life goes on . . .”

Her voice trailed off. What else could she say? There were too many things she had no words for at all.

“And then you feel guilty because it goes on?”

Hera blinked, startled at the question striking so close to the heart of her own internal struggle. She nodded, unable to trust her own voice to answer out loud.

The room grew quiet, except for binary muttering and cursing echoing from the cockpit—Chopper probably arguing with the navicomputer again. He really never did change. Hera gulped down the last sips of her rapidly-cooling tea, willing the earthy scent of it to ground her.

To her great relief, Sabine changed the subject. “How is the baby?” she asked softly.

That was a subject far easier to speak to, and Hera’s eyes brightened a little. Thinking about the baby was always a source of unexpected joy, even in the darkest moments, even when the weight of the galaxy’s turmoil around them and the very real dangers they faced day by day as a part of the Rebellion should have filled her with dread. She had no logical reason why.

She simply knew that her child was hope. They would always be hope.

Her hope, at least.

Hera let herself relax into her thoughts. She slouched against the back of the seat, pulling the fabric of her tunic tight against her belly so that Sabine might see it clearly, and cradled the small, but distinctly round lump there with her hands. “Fine, I think. Growing, for sure—they’ll do another scan in a couple weeks to see.

“Had a good heartbeat last week when I saw a doctor,” she added. The sound of it echoed in her mind. Her gaze drifted downward and eyes unfocused. She let herself get lost in the memory for a moment, the world around her narrowing, until nothing else existed around her except herself and the tiny being that kept her putting one foot in front of the other.

Sabine’s voice drew her back to practical reality. “Have the doctors figured out yet when the baby will come?”

“Not precisely. Another four to six standard months or so is the last thing I was told. A hybrid specialist might know, but–”

“The Rebellion doesn’t have a specialist,” Sabine finished Hera’s sentence for her, a bitter note in her voice.

“No,” Hera replied simply. Sabine knew as well as she did that there was no remedying that fact, or any of the other unknowns. All she could do was trust the care she had—and the Force. Sabine’s worry for her was touching, but ultimately pointless.

“That’s enough about me anyways. How have things been on Lothal?” Hera itched to move on to another subject that did not concern herself.

Sabine stiffened a bit, then relaxed again. “Oh, they’ve been fine,” she said smoothly. “Ryder’s set in motion that massive plan to overhaul Capital City’s infrastructure that we were developing before you left. The first step is clearing away old Imperial structures, and repurposing the material. I’ve been overseeing demolitions on the Dome over the past couple weeks.”

Here smiled wryly. “Of course you would be overseeing demolitions.”

“You know me. It’s a hard job, but somebody’s gotta do it.” Sabine appeared pleased at Hera’s tease, but an unexpected edge appeared in her countenance again, this time more pronounced, her bearing reminding Hera of a cornered loth-cat and putting her on edge.

“What is it? Did something happen?” Hera’s mind spun with thoughts of demolitions disasters, people injured or killed in blasts gone wrong. But she couldn’t fathom how could anything like that would have happened on Sabine’s watch. She was far too precise.

Sabine straightened her back and looked Hera full in the eyes, plastering a calm expression over her face.

A mask. A facade.

_But why?_

“No, we found something in the Dome—something which I think belongs to you.”

“Me?” Hera tilted her head and stared at Sabine in confusion. What could they have possibly found that belonged to her? The kalikori was safely stowed in her cabin. Had Thrawn taken something else from her childhood home she didn’t know about? Stuffed it in his office like a trophy to be displayed?

A flare of indignation sprang up in her chest at that thought.

“I mean, it should belong to you. It–” Sabine, always cool and collected, no matter how dire the situation, tripped over her words. “Part of the reason I . . . I wanted to come today was to bring the– to bring _it_ to you.”

Anxiety wormed its way through Hera’s gut, growing by the second at Sabine’s discomposure. Her gaze became wary and emotions shuttered, trying to prepare herself for whatever the thing Sabine had found might be.

Sabine bent over, grabbing the satchel discarded on the floor beside her and hauling it into her lap. Hera fought the urge to question her further as the girl dug around in the bag to find whatever it was that she was looking for.

At the very first glance, she knew could never have possibly prepared herself enough.

Hera froze at the sight of a small bundle wrapped in unassuming gray fabric, the painfully familiar length and cylindrical shape twisting her stomach into knots. There was only one thing she can think of that Sabine might bring her that would look like that.

 _It was_ not _hers. It shouldn’t be._

_It wasn’t fair._

“Is that . . . ?” She didn’t dare say the words.

She already knew the answer.

Almost against her will, Hera extended her hands. A small part of herself longed to simply stand up and run. But nowhere in the galaxy could be far enough for her to run away from this. Not really.

And her legs might as well have been made of jelly anyways.

Sabine’s hands trembled as she reverently extended the parcel. It landed heavy in Hera’s palms, as if it were made of solid lead, and her fingers closed around it, feeling the familiar ridges of metal through the layers of cloth.

“One of the local workers found it during the demolition and turned it in,” Sabine began explaining softly.

Hera tried to focus on the words she was saying but found they made little sense. She laid the bundle on her lap and began unwrapping it, her motions detached, robotic—something outside of herself compelling her to action, regardless of how her heart and mind had frozen.

“It was pretty damaged—in the blast, we think. It doesn’t–”

Hera pulled away the final layer of fabric, exposing Kanan’s lightsaber to their view. She sucked in a sharp breath at the sight. Blackened metal met her eyes—dented, twisted, even bent, in numerous places it should not be. The hilt appeared merely a shell of what it had once been.

What it could have been for a generation to come.

Cautiously, Hera picked it up to rest naked in her palms, staring at it in silent shock.

“It doesn’t work anymore. I tried igniting it so many times,” Sabine said, every word feeling like another stone hung around Hera’s neck. “But I still felt like it belonged to you—with you. It’s his legacy. A legacy for the baby. And maybe—maybe it can be reforged in the future, when they are grown.”

_The future?_

The future felt so far away. Impossibly far. All Hera could see was the past, the memory of the Dome exploding in a fireball high above the city blazing at the forefront of her mind. And now within it, the lightsaber burning, meeting the same fate as its master.

_The lightsaber burning. Kanan burning._

Hera opened her mouth, and Sabine waited for her to speak. But nothing came out.

_Kanan burning. She saw him._

Her eyes glazed over, another reality, another memory invading her awareness before Sabine could possibly intervene.

_Surrounded by flames._

Hera’s breathing grew rapid and shallow, her grip on the lightsaber hilt white-knuckled. Her hands trembled with terror, the familiar warmth of the Ghost’s common room consumed in her mind by a blazing inferno of orange and gold.

_His outstretched hand holding them at bay._

The fire flared, its greedy tongues sucking all the oxygen from Hera’s lungs, and she fought to breathe against its suffocating assault. Her heart pounded and pain bloomed in her chest, searing her insides.

_Standing so far from her across the fuel pod, his other outstretched hand holding her at bay._

_Hers powerless to pull him closer._

Terror gripped Hera as every moment, every detail, replayed in front of her eyes, replayed in her body—the past three months erased in a blink.

_Teal. Kanan’s eyes again shifted from milky blindness back to their original, bright teal._

_A trick of her imagination. It had to be. Impossible._

_She couldn’t watch any more. She couldn’t look away._

_This isn’t real, this isn’t real_ , her rational mind screamed from a remote corner, trying to reclaim its hold.

 _It feels real_ , her body shouted back.

_“Kanan!” A scream tore from her own throat._

_Was that her? Was that her voice?_ She didn’t know. It sounded far away. She felt as if she were watching the horror play out from some distance off—the sounds muffled, distorted, reaching her ears through the soupy confines of bacta, the walls of the tank around her rapidly closing in on her, the rebreather out of reach, lost.

_Air! She needed air!_

_Ezra’s grip tightened on her shoulders, shaking her urgently._

_Why was Ezra shaking her?_

“Hera!”

_She couldn’t move. Kanan. She had to get to Kanan._

“Hera! Oh, shab, why did I do that!”

_What?_

The voice—Sabine’s voice, her mind told her—injected a milliliter of confusion into Hera’s veins. Just enough to break the trance.

“Hera, you need to breathe.”

 _Breathe. Yes, she could breathe_ , Hera remembered. Desperate to find the surface, she gulped in a lungful of air. Kanan’s image began to fade.

“That’s it. Breathe again.”

So she did.

“It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re on the Ghost. You’re home.”

_Home._

One breath at a time, Hera let Sabine’s voice guide her back to the present.

“Hera? Now I need you to breathe slow. Like this.”

Hera opened her eyes to find Sabine’s face just a few inches from hers, her eyes wide and frantic. Both her hands were on Hera’s shoulders, their tight grip relaxing as Hera found the will to follow her lead, taking careful, measured breaths.

_In and out. In and out._

With one hand, Hera grasped the seat cushion below her, her knuckles turning nearly white with the effort. With the other, she clutched her stomach. Both clinging to the reminders of reality—the present surrounding her, the future inside her.

As the minutes wore on, the vision abated, the terror and fear of the past dissipating into the air above before vanishing completely, leaving empty exhaustion in their wake. Hera released the cushion to swipe at the wetness on her cheeks with a tired hand. She had no memory of crying, but the remnants of half-dried tears told a different story, one she’d lived too many times to count over the past months.

“I’m so sorry. I should have told you more first—should have prepared you better.” Sabine’s voice was heavy-laden with guilt, and Hera felt her own surge in response.

“It wasn’t your fault,” Hera replied, her throat hoarse.

Sabine raised her eyebrows and cocked her head to the side. “It was at least a little bit. You have to give me some credit for my own insensitivity and stupidity.”

Hera snorted the beginnings of a laugh at Sabine’s comment, and a corner of her mouth turned up, a glint of the sun’s rays beginning to shine again after the storm. She dropped her gaze to her lap to find it empty, the lightsaber gone.

“I put it away,” Sabine confessed.

Hera nodded, unexpected relief flooding her. Later. She could deal with it again later. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Sabine offered a weak smile and reached over to squeeze her hand.

“I’m okay.” Hera tried to reassure her.

Sabine rolled her eyes. “No. You’re not.”

So maybe she wasn’t really okay, not in this moment. And of course Sabine could see that, but the moment was passing—had passed. More moments would come. That hope would always drive her forward. “I will be.”

Sabine’s eyebrows rose, but she said nothing. Hera couldn’t blame her for her skepticism. She felt enough of her own.

 _Will I be?_ Hera asked herself. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure she believed her own words sometimes. But if she did not believe them, then who would? And if she did not tell them to herself, over and over until the truth within them settled into her very bones, imbuing their fragile, organic forms with the strength of durasteel, how would she ever be able to move on—to be the leader the Rebellion needed?

_—to be the mother her child needed?_

“I will be,” she muttered again, the meager beginning of a litany on her lips.

She would be; she knew it.

_She had to be._

* * *

Hours later, Hera folded her arms around her middle and glared at the neatly-wrapped gray bundle sitting on her work table right where Sabine had said she’d leave it. The light above shone down like a spotlight on it in the darkened room, making every fold of the rough fabric stand out in sharp relief, every shadow a tiny cavern that the ghosts of her past might be lingering within.

_Why?_

_Why had the Force brought it back to her?_

A painful, tangible reminder of the loss she had suffered. One of two things that had burned in a fire—and not the one she would wish to have back.

_And what am I going to do with it?_

Hera sighed. She’d avoided thinking about it the rest of the day, throwing herself into the rhythms of duty instead. But now, the day’s work was done, and she had no more excuses to distract her, the need for a decision staring her in the face.

A part of her, by no means small, wanted nothing more than to hide the lightsaber away—carefully stash it in the back of a cabinet or drawer where it could lie quietly, safely. Nearly forgotten.

The idea was an enticing one.

She could tuck it away in her cabinet, with her few other keepsakes, pull it out occasionally to hold, to brush her fingers over the surfaces that Kanan’s hands had once held, give it to their child someday in the future if . . .

Hera’s stomach churned, a well of nausea rising up in response to her thoughts, nearly overcoming that morning’s dose of medicine now waning in her system.

No, she couldn’t do that to it. It had always been meant for more.

She’d spent six years longing for Kanan to pull the weapon out and reclaim his identity before he’d finally done so that fateful day on Kessel. To hide it away just like it had been after Kanan had joined her on the Ghost—tucked away in the drawer under his bunk with the holocron, concealing its existence—that felt wrong. To banish the lightsaber back to a darkened corner after everything they’d been through seemed cruel, dishonest even. She couldn’t bring herself to do it, no matter how painful a reminder it might serve.

 _What’s one more?_ she thought wryly, glancing up at the kalikori, carefully mounted above the work table, the bright light illuminating its blocks in skeletal relief. But the familiar sigils they bore, the colors and shapes representing loved ones and home steadied her just enough to reach forward.

Worrying her lower lip with her teeth, Hera grasped the fabric-wrapped saber with a trembling hand. Carefully, she stepped backwards to the low bench along the wall and lowered herself to sit on it, acutely mindful of her small, but growing belly, caution infused into her every movement.

Sitting back, she regarded the package. It felt heavy in her hands, as if, however small it might be, it carried the weight of the galaxy’s fate and future within its trappings. Perhaps it did.

She felt acutely that it carried hers.

That it carried their child’s.

_‘Legacy.’ Such a Mandalorian thing for Sabine to say._

_But not untrue._

A shot of anxiety surged back through her. The temptation to just hide it away rising again.

But that wasn’t where it belonged. And she needed to deal with it now. She had to. Her heart already had too many festering wounds still unattended to. She was determined that this not become one more.

She inhaled. She exhaled. She lifted the corners of the fabric, unrolling it gently, slowly, until the lightsaber lay exposed again on her lap, the full extent of its carnage bared to her view.

Automatically, the emotions, the sensations that had earlier overwhelmed her began pressing their assault, and she forced herself to look away, leaning her head back to focus on her painted ceiling, on the slow intake of air into her lungs.

 _This isn’t Lothal. I’m on the Ghost. I’m home_ , she chanted in her mind.

 _But it did happen_ , her thoughts answered back. _It did._ And her eyes blurred, the room swimming around her, until she finally squeezed them shut, setting the tears free on their journey down her cheeks.

For a few minutes, all she could do was let the wave of emotion carry her, hoping against hope that she wouldn’t drown before it deposited her back on the shore.

Somehow she made it through. The floodgates closed, the tears ebbing back into the oceans from whence they came. Hera brushed their remnants away.

Her emotions spent, she turned her attention back to the object in her lap, with all her strength willing her mind to regard it with the clinical, detached focus she would give any other piece of machinery on the Ghost—a broken energy dampener, a malfunctioning motivator, a glitching sensor array.

What she found was significantly worse than she’d remembered from earlier. The blackened scars covering much of the hilt and bits of ash still clinging to the crevices had consumed all her attention before, but the carbon scoring was perhaps the most superficial problem. The guard around the emitter at the end was bent in several places, oddly wavy, the metal clearly having reached the point where it had melted enough to start drooping. In multiple spots, pieces that should have been separate appeared to have fused together. The top portion could not be twisted off the handle at all. And perhaps worst of all, two line-like dents across the middle spoke of the weight of a beam landing on it in the midst of the inferno, with enough weight to bend the hilt.

_Just how hot had that fire been?_

Hot enough.

Hera lifted the saber off her lap and held it closer, cataloguing all the small nicks and smudges. But despite the evidence of her eyes and hands, a small, outlandish hope still flickered in her breast. She raised the saber, and let her finger gravitate to the trigger.

She pressed it.

Nothing happened—not a flicker, sputter, or vibration of life to be heard or felt in her hands.

It was long dead.

 _Sabine had been right. Of course she’d been right._ Hera had never really doubted her word. This was just one more foolish hope, one more disappointment. The power pack must be irreparably damaged from the fire, the wiring was likely melted, and the bend in the hilt would prevent the elements inside from focusing correctly, even if everything else still functioned.

Perhaps the saber should be carefully tucked away in her cabinets after all, buried with all the reverence due to its departed owner.

She’d never had the chance to bury Kanan.

The saber cradled in her lap, Hera dropped her head into her hands. Cold dismay and defeat washed over her. She didn’t want to surrender, but what choice did she have?

Whispers from the past floated to the surface of her mind.

_“Kyber crystals aren’t just any ordinary crystal. They resonate with the living Force and channel it, like no other mineral in the galaxy. A Jedi is able to connect with their crystal, and it grows with them as they grow,” Kanan said._

_“Whoa, so it’s alive?” Ezra asked, squinting to look closer at the brightly glowing blue gem hovering in the middle of an array of mechanical pieces—the star around which the others revolved—all of them suspended in the Force by Kanan’s hand._

_From the darkened galley doorway, Hera watched at a distance, sipping her caf quietly._

_Kanan chuckled. “Sort of. Not alive the same way as you or I, but they do have a life of their own. That one came to you because it chose you, it wanted to be yours.”_

_Ezra gave a crooked grin and glanced back down at the hovering crystal’s twin laying in his palm._

_The corners of Hera’s mouth lifted to see the glow of joy on Ezra’s face, and even more to see the warmth and growing confidence on Kanan’s. Still holding the pieces of the lightsaber in the air, he named them one by one for the boy and explained their purposes, pointing at them with the fingers of his other hand._

I have a couple of those _, Hera thought, mentally sorting through the spare electrical parts she kept around for repairs._

_As if in response, Kanan glanced up and his eyes found hers. He smiled._

Hera let herself linger in the memory, replaying it in her mind over and over, until her spirit brightened.

Kanan’s saber was dead, but could the thing, the crystal, inside it still be alive? Could it live on in some way? Still be part of her future? Their child’s?

There was only one way to find out.

Hera stood and set the lightsaber on her work table. A sense of purpose in every movement, she worked to gather the tools she thought might be useful—hydrospanner, fusioncutter, macrofuser, and a couple others, all laid on the table in a neat row. Then she retrieved her datapad and an empty holodisc, carefully plotting every step of the operation in her mind.

She had only one shot at this. She had to get it right.

Hera exhaled. Her gaze drifted upward towards the kalikori. Gently, she fingered the pyramid hanging on its end.

“I’m sorry,” she said, speaking to the air.

Then, pulling down her goggles to cover her eyes, she set to work.

It could have been minutes; it could have been hours. Hera could not discern the passage of time as her hands worked. Taking image after image of the saber with her datapad. Labeling them with everything she knew about the lightsaber and its components. Cutting, prying, pulling apart twisted metal. Repeating the cycle over and over until the table before her was strewn with the discarded remains of the once-proud weapon, a single, unblemished stone lying in the midst of them, alone apparently undamaged by the flames.

Undamaged, but dim.

Lifting her goggles, Hera grasped the small stone and pulled it out of the wreckage. The vibrant blue glow she’d once seen was no more. The clear, colorless crystal in her hand looked as ordinary and lifeless as a shard of glass. Her hands shaking, she shut off the light above her work table, plunging the room into darkness. It only confirmed her assessment. Not a single ray of light shone in its depths.

_Could kyber crystals die with their owners?_

Hera’s stomach twisted, like a vibroblade to the gut.

Her anger flared. _There had to be a way to revive it. What had Kanan said about connection?_ But Kanan was gone, and she was no Jedi. It knew him, not her. What good would she be?

Hera backed up to the bench behind her, and nearly collapsed onto it. Discarding her gloves, she wrapped the crystal in her palm, its cold edges biting into her skin.

Within moments, they were no longer so cold.

Hera opened her hand again, prodding at the crystal with the fingers of her other. The stone was now warm to the touch, warmer than her skin in the cool room. It still gave no light, but any change had to be good. Outside of dragging Kanan back from the dead, that might be as good as she was going to get—a joyless, half-hearted victory. The crystal freed, the damage done to it beyond her power to reverse.

Beyond hers, maybe . . .

 _You have a part of me right there_ , a whisper told her.

 _If this baby is like their father . . ._ her own voice added—words spoken a month ago, now more relevant than ever.

Hardly daring to breathe, Hera drew her hands close and pressed the kyber to her belly. For a few long moments, nothing seemed to happen. The silence in the room, broken only by the low hum of the Ghost’s air systems, was deafening. Her heartbeat pounded in her ears.

The crystal grew even warmer.

A few seconds more, and she dared to look down and peek inside her hands.

Had she had human eyes, she might not have been able to discern it at all. But where there had been darkness before, there now shone the faintest glimmer of light—the life that had appeared lost, rekindled. Reborn.

Hera let out a sound that might have been both a laugh and a sob. Then something else stole her breath away entirely.

The faintest fluttering, low in her belly—like a moth, newly emerged from its cocoon, spreading its wings and preparing to take flight.

 _Was that the_ . . .

Hera jerked her hands away, and the feeling stopped. She waited, frozen, hardly able to believe her own senses. Then she pressed the crystal to her stomach again. A minute later, the fluttering returned, this time stronger. _More determined, purposeful_ , she thought to herself, delighting in the exquisite sensation of the tiny, gentle kicks against the stone in her hand.

Because that was the only thing those sensations could possibly be—her baby’s kicking and twisting. Their innate response to the kyber in her hand, the purest joy spilling over from her womb to flood her whole being with warmth, as the growing child inside her basked in what could only be their connection to the crystal—to the Force itself, dancing to the wordless symphony that bound the galaxy together. A song she could never hear.

Awe. Wonder. Fascination. No word could possibly contain the myriad of emotions swirling through her veins.

“It’s you!” she whispered, tucking away every thought on the deeper implications of the baby’s reactions to examine later.

All that mattered right now was that the crystal was alive, and that it was in her possession—something tangible of Kanan that she could keep close, something of their father that her baby could feel near.

It needed to stay that way.

Rising again from the bench, her motions sluggish and steps leaden with encroaching fatigue ( _What hour was it anyway?_ ), Hera turned the light back on and gently placed the crystal on the table, pushing the mess backwards to free some space. Then she turned to her cabinets, to the things she _had_ hidden away, the specters that lay buried there.

Concealed behind a small stack of clean sheets, she found what she was looking for—a small, unassuming chest of light-colored wood. She huffed in a breath as she willed herself to pull it out. Years had passed since the last time she had done so.

Even now, the rust-colored star flowers painted on the corners and the Syndulla clan symbol on its edges made her heart stutter. Carefully, she set it on the table and opened the lid before her mind could tell her to turn back.

The smells of Ryloth, of her distant home planet, flooded her senses. Aromas that reminded her of dry, hot, spice-laden air, of nights spent tucked away in quiet caves, of Mama, of Pa–

–of her father.

This half-full box was nearly all that remained now as testimony to her childhood, and she sifted through its contents, moving aside two rough-hewn wooden starships she’d played with as a child, a handful of crumbling, aromatic leaves from a tree inside their home, a piece of carefully folded flimsiplast she knew contained her mother’s jart feather earcone rings, a faded sketch of four people—two grown, two small—labeled with a child’s scrawl, until she found the item she was searching for.

Hera lifted out the embroidered fabric pouch, a rare treasure made of real—not synth—silk, and opened it to pull out the necklace within.

The light blue stones, cut into cylindrical and spherical shapes from some mineral she’d never learned to identify, still glistened in the light, a slight pearlescent shimmer giving them depth. For a moment, her vision flashed with the memory of slender, bright green fingers working their way from one bead to the next as a calming voice chanted the prayers and blessings each one represented.

_Ryma’at, lao ji ercirak ootay e'an tislera aan usala.  
Ryma’at, lao ji tislera veo e'an voe vil alh vlahs t'ari. _

Hera had never really seen the use in praying to the goddess when she’d had living beings with the power to wield the Force in her home, one even in her bed. But the memory, the voice, she cherished.

She held the necklace up to the light, examining the cord that bound it together for any weaknesses or fraying. Finding none, she picked up the untouched macrofuser, along with a length of copper wire she’d salvaged months back from a broken cooling unit on the Ghost. Skillfully, she bound the crystal with the wire and welded it together at points to hold it securely, then attached it to the center of the necklace.

Satisfied that it was secure, Hera lifted the ornament, testing the weight of the crystal on the cord. The kyber caught the light from above her work table and scattered it around the room, fragments of its rays illuminating the deep shadows hiding in every corner, a bright spark in her world, even if the crystal itself could only produce a faint shine.

It felt right in her hands.

It felt like two shattered halves of her heart made whole.

Her task completed, she gathered up the wreckage of Kanan’s saber, placing each piece on the fabric Sabine had brought it to her in. Then she ejected the holodisc from her datapad, put it in its case, and added it to the pile. Everything accounted for, she tied it closed with a knot. With a deep breath, she placed the bundle in her chest and shut the lid, hiding it back behind the sheets she had pulled it out from.

_Maybe she could bury her dead after all._

She picked up the necklace and secured the clasp behind her head, dropping the crystal under her shirt. It settled, warm and comforting, between her breasts, and the baby kicked enthusiastically at its proximity.

_Bury the dead. Embrace the living._

The lightsaber—Kanan’s lightsaber—was necessarily a part of the past, but its resurrected heart now thrummed away against her own. She knew with unwavering certainty that it would grow stronger by the day, alongside the life growing inside of her.

And perhaps someday . . . someday it could be remade.

Hera smiled.

**Author's Note:**

> Two more stories, and this series will be complete! The next one *should* be much kinder to our hearts than this one was. And the birth story will follow. I am also starting to toy with story ideas later on when Jacen is young that would continue, but not be integral to this arc. 
> 
> You can find me on **[tumblr](http://veritascara.tumblr.com/)** and **[Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/veritascara)** for updates and snippets in the mean time. <3


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